


Limit

by Saber_Wing



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Established Relationship, Fainting, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Tony Stark, Romance, Sickfic, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superhusbands (Marvel), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Steve straightened and took a few steps forward, working his way toward a pile of twisted metal that looked slightly more lethal than its surrounding compatriots. Someone could really hurt themselves on that. Sweat poured off him in buckets, and he blinked it out of his eyes, shaking his head, as if to shoo a fly away.Big mistake. Steve’s head swam in a way it hadn’t in years, and his vision blurred before he blinked it away, dazed, light-headed, more than a little stunned. He stumbled over a jagged piece of rock; limbs heavy, movements sluggish.Oh. Oh, wow, he was dizzy.Steve overworks himself. Tony is not pleased.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 413





	Limit

If Steve Rogers had a shit list, Victor von Doom would be among the top contenders.

The man was utterly merciless. He’d do anything to get what he wanted. He didn’t care how many innocent people stood in his way. And, his ideology was far too close to Red Skull’s iteration of world domination for comfort. He was the poster definition of a super villain. Overzealous. Cruel.

It was also his fault Manhattan was in such a sorry state, and that Steve had been out in the hot sun for days, working to clean up the wreckage alongside S.H.I.E.L.D. and other local and federal authorities. So much destruction in such a short time. It was unconscionable.

Steve yanked out another steel beam sticking up in the middle of the street and tossed it onto a truck with a pile of scrap metal. Breathing heavily, he wiped his face with the back of a dust-stained glove, eyes stinging from the sweat dripping into them.

They’d been at it for a while, and slowly, they _were_ making progress. Most of Doom’s army of eviscerated robots had been cleared from the streets, and many survivors trapped under the rubble had been freed. There was still a lot of work to be done, but they were moving in the right direction.

Sweat carving a path through the grime, Steve hunched over, resting a hand on his knee. He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders heaving, allowing himself a moment’s reprieve. He tried to contemplate the last time he’d stopped to rest.

He couldn’t recall.

Certainly, he’d seen several shifts come and go. Steve kept working through it, with minimal scattered stops to eat at random intervals, and he tried to stay hydrated. Out in temperatures like these, not doing so could be fatal. But Steve was far stronger than the average human. He’d had worse in the army. He could handle backbreaking work and keep it up for a far longer period.

The sooner the city got back to normal, the better. Its citizens couldn’t be expected to heal, living in limbo like this.

Tony was getting frustrated. He’d been pushing Steve to _‘stop being such a try hard and let S.H.I.E.L.D. pull their weight for a change.’_ And he might have a point. Steve hadn’t slept in a while.

Abruptly, and with a bit of alarm, Steve realized he hadn’t the slightest idea how long ‘a while’ was.

Setting his jaw, Steve resolved to finish clearing this block. Then, he would rest. He squinted up at the sun, hand shielding his eyes. If he stopped by noon, he could be back out by sundown, and still allow for a fair amount of sleep. Food. Maybe a shower. He looked down at himself, wrinkling his nose.

On second thought, maybe the shower should come first.

Steve straightened and took a few steps forward, working his way toward a pile of twisted metal that looked slightly more lethal than its surrounding compatriots. Someone could really hurt themselves on that. Sweat poured off him in buckets, and he blinked it out of his eyes, shaking his head, as if to shoo a fly away.

Big mistake. Steve’s head swam in a way it hadn’t in _years,_ and his vision blurred before he blinked it away, dazed, light-headed, more than a little stunned. He stumbled over a jagged piece of rock, limbs heavy, movements sluggish.

Oh. Oh, wow, he was dizzy.

Steve shambled to an unwilling stop, dropping to one knee.

“Cap?” Someone knelt beside him. Touched his shoulder. The voice was familiar, but it seemed far away to Steve. As if they were speaking through a tub full of water. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Steve felt disconnected. Even his own _voice_ seemed to belong to somebody else. “I’m fine. I just…just need a…”

Someone shouted with alarm.

Steve wanted to tell them it was all right. He’d get his feet back under him. No problem. He just needed a moment. A moment. That was all. Then he’d…he’d…

He felt himself pitch forward and fell into the black.

* * *

Steve came to with his head pillowed on someone’s lap – a metal hand, cupping his cheek. He lifted an arm to shield his eyes, groaning softly.

“Easy, babe. Back up! Give him some space, for fuck’s sake.”

“Tony?” Steve blinked his eyes open, grasping blindly for the blurry face, hovering above his.

Tony caught Steve’s hand. “Here. I’m right here.”

Steve shook his head, wincing at the stabbing pain that sprang behind his eyes. He tried to sit up and was promptly assaulted by a wave of vertigo so intense, he had to stop, bringing a hand up to his forehead to steady himself.

“Whoa, easy there, big guy.” Tony was right there with him, one strong arm wrapping behind his back, supporting him. Holding him up. “Give it a minute.”

“What the…” Steve croaked, accepting a bottle of water Clint thrust into his hand from the sidelines. He twisted off the cap and guzzled it down like a man starved, and truthfully, he probably _was._ “What happened?”

“You passed out.” Tony’s hand tightened on the back of his uniform. “God _damn_ it, Steve. I _told_ you to cool it!”

Steve blinked.

He’d _what_?

Clint took one look at the stunned disbelief in his expression and took pity on him. He shrugged, and his voice was teasing, but soft. Almost hushed around the edges. “No, yeah. You did. Wilted like a daisy. Dropped like a stone, into my waiting, capable arms.”

“Wow,” Steve muttered, blowing an exhausted breath between his lips. “I…”

But…that was…he hadn’t fainted in _years._ Certainly not since the serum.

Someone – an unfamiliar woman in a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform -- crouched in front of Steve, toting what looked like a medical kit, and looking nearly as harried as Steve felt. “Captain Rogers? I’m just gonna take a quick look at you. Is that okay?”

Steve nodded his consent, squeezing his eyes shut when the motion made his head swim.

The woman examined Steve as best she could out on the field. He tried to comply, though his brain still felt sluggish. He answered a few basic questions for her. Yes, he knew what year it was. Yes, he knew the president, and how to say his full name.

Steve still felt shaky. His hands were clammy. And he was light-headed enough that he didn’t trust himself to stand without stumbling. He leaned against Tony, but he was careful not to bear his full weight on him. Steve wasn’t a _complete_ invalid. He didn’t want to _scare_ him. Though judging from his lover’s expression, that ship had sailed the moment Steve dropped to the ground, like a sack of potatoes.

The young woman pursed her lips as she finished the exam, frowning at him in a way that made him feel chastised. “Heat exhaustion. I’d like to take you back to the helicarrier, get some I.V. fluids pumped into you. Mr. Stark, you’re his medical proxy?”

“Yup.” Tony, typically the first one to shirk medical advice, nodded. “You have all necessary documentation on file.” There was something clipped about the words. A tension behind them that spoke of a maelstrom, churning just below the surface.

The woman nodded. “If the doctor clears him after the I.V. I can send him home with you, but he needs rest.”

“Oh, he’ll _get_ it. Don’t worry your little head about that.” Tony flashed her a showman’s smile – pristine. Just the faintest flash of teeth.

Steve crossed his arms. He hated being talked over like this, particularly over a medical issue. He’d had quite enough of that as an asthmatic in the forties. “That’s hardly necessary. A few hours of rest will do me just fine. I need to be out here.”

Steve was sitting more steadily on his own now. Enough that Tony, evidently, felt it was safe to stand, whirling to face him in a flurry of waving limbs. “You’ve been _out_ here for _three days.”_

Steve bristled. Had it _really_ been that long?

Tony wasn’t finished. He continued before Steve even had a chance to open his mouth, frustration dripping from every pore. “How many of the National Guard’s tanks have you pulled out of ditches by yourself, in that time? Hmm?”

Steve blinked, not entirely sure where Tony was going with this. “I…don’t know, I wasn’t counting. A couple dozen. What does that have to do with anything?”

“What does that have to–” Tony cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He scoffed, gesturing at the medic with an exasperated wave of his hands. “You see what I have to deal with? What the hell is the matter with you? No, sit the _fuck_ down.” Tony pushed on his shoulders when he moved to stand up; hard enough that Steve – woefully off-balance – could only comply. He fell heavily onto his backside, blinking dazedly up at his boyfriend. “I’m calling it. You are _way_ over your limit.”

“Pot, kettle,” Steve replied, which was perhaps, not the best thing he could have said. He winced the moment the words were out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop Tony from latching onto them anyway. _Boy,_ did he ever latch on.

Tony stormed over to Steve, voice trembling with fury.

“That is not the same thing. I might spend too many nights in the workshop, but you don’t get to compare my stupid insomnia to lifting _literal_ tanks out of ditches and tossing around pieces of skyscraper for days without a break. That is _not_ how this works. You can get the fuck up off that right now Steve Rogers, or I swear to _God…”_

Steve had moved on from confused, to mildly alarmed. He reached out a hand. Tried to catch Tony’s wrist.

“Honey—”

Tony cut him off, jerking away. “Don’t _honey_ me. I don’t wanna hear it.” His words were tight, cracked around the edges. “Every lecture you’ve given me about taking care of myself doesn’t mean a damned thing if you can’t practice what you preach. Self-righteous son-of-a-bitch; you haven’t slept at _all,_ have you? You’ve literally been working. This _entire_ time!”

Tony was _really_ upset. His hands were moving a mile a minute, but Steve could see them shaking, and his brown eyes were wild, glimmering with anger. Anger, and something dangerously close to fear.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s just…take a breath,” Steve pleaded softly, but once Tony really got started, it took an act of God to stop him. He steam-rolled over Steve as if he hadn’t heard, pacing.

“You’ve got balls of steel, turning this back on me, you know that? _I_ slept last night. And now I know for a _fact_ you didn’t. Is there anything else I should know about, Steve, or am I the only significant other whose earth-shattering advice you’re ignoring right now?”

Steve held out a hand. “Tony – “

“You can come to me and say, _‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re working too hard, let’s take a break!_ ’ But I do the same thing, and I’m overreacting?”

Steve paused, shutting his mouth with an audible _click._

He hadn’t thought of it _that_ way.

Okay. Steve was willing to admit he may have overdone it just a _tad._ It _had_ been a long day – long _three_ days, apparently -- and the city wasn’t going to salvage itself. But Steve wasn’t ever in any real danger. The serum saw to that. He could take more abuse than anyone else out there. It didn’t make sense to give any less than that when his continued efforts might help pull them out of the hole that much sooner.

But there was such a thing as taking it too far, and Steve had clearly pushed that limit. It was never his intention to drive himself into the ground. He couldn’t help anybody then. Maybe he _had_ been a bit overconfident.

Meanwhile, during Steve’s internal crisis, Tony had continued his tirade, face red, eyes…oh God, there were _tears_ in his eyes.

Okay. That was enough. Steve needed to fix this.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was? I saw you go down. I had a front row _seat,_ Steven Grant Rogers, do you know what that did to me? Do –”

Steve took a breath. He tested his legs beneath him – they’d hold him. He was sure.

 _Pretty_ sure, anyway.

He pushed off his knees. His legs _did_ hold him.

For a moment, anyway.

Tony noticed the movement immediately. His eyes widened in alarm, and when the world went sideways, Steve realized he was _listing_ sideways.

He should probably sit back down now, but Tony got there first. He grabbed Steve by both arms, and Steve leaned forward, resting his forehead on Tony’s armored shoulder.

“Would you _stop_ doing that?” Tony’s voice was strangled, pitched somewhere between annoyance, and frazzled amusement.

“What? Standing?” Steve’s voice was muffled, face pressed into the metal. Though it was cool on his heated forehead, it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he didn’t complain.

Steve was precisely where he wanted to be.

“Yes. You’re awful at it. _Sitting._ Now, that’s where you _excel._ Let’s sit down forever, shall we?”

Steve chuckled, wrapping both arms around Tony’s waist. “Good thing I have a Shellhead to detail my shortcomings.”

“Not that you’ve _listened_ to any of them for the past three days,” Tony muttered, voice small, bitter. Steve could feel some of the tension leave Tony’s posture, even through the armor. He held him closer. Took more of Steve’s weight, and Steve sagged against him, feeling weaker than he had in years, and more humbled than he cared to say.

He’d say it anyway. He owed Tony that.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured, pulling back far enough to gaze into the prettiest brown eyes he’d _ever_ seen. “It’s not right for me to expect something of you that I can’t do myself. I’ll be more careful.” It was a bitter pill to swallow. Steve had always thought of himself as a very self-aware person. Knowing his strengths, and his limits. Maybe he needed to reassess that opinion.

“Please.” Tony held his gaze, face twisted with anguish. The word was like a knife to the gut, raw with pleading. Knowing Steve had been the one to put it there turned his stomach. “I know I’m bad at it, too. But I’m _trying_ here, Steve.”

“I know.” And it was true. Tony really _had_ been taking better care of himself lately. Steve knew how hard he was trying. It hadn’t been fair of him to throw that up in his face, even in joking. “I know you are. I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

Tony exhaled heavily. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded. It wasn’t perfect. But it was a start.

Steve was practically weaving on his feet. He leaned his head into Tony’s chest plate. Wrapped both arms around his neck. “I don’t suppose you know anybody who could fly me up to the nearest helicarrier? I’m told I’m an idiot who stayed out in the sun for too long and didn’t sleep for three days.”

Tony chuckled obligingly – thin, forced, but it was still the reaction Steve was hoping for. “This is why I wanted to make you boot jets. Fair warning, I’m much more expensive than _Uber,_ and I expect to be paid with love and affection.”

“You don’t have to do _anything_ for that,” Steve murmured, thick tongued, too addled for anything but raw honesty.

Tony paused, at a loss for words. Steve was typically free with his affections, but Tony didn’t always know how to accept them when Steve _meant_ them so much. And his smile trembled around the edges, eyes shining suspiciously. “Suck up,” he choked, trying for humor, and falling just short. “That’s not fair. You can’t say shit like that when I’m mad at you.”

Steve reached up to cup Tony’s cheek, muttering something he wasn’t sure counted as an answer, but words in general were failing him now. God, he loved Tony. And though he couldn’t seem to manage saying it right now, Steve hoped he could always feel it.

Tony leaned into his touch for a long moment. Kissed his palm. “All right. That’s enough mush. I’m gonna puke.” His eyes told Steve he knew. And the soft, gentle quality of his words belied their meaning. “Come on, Princess Peach. Your castle awaits.”

Steve allowed himself to drift in Tony’s capable arms, blinks getting longer. Eyelids heavy. “I... understood that reference,” he murmured. Not quite slurring, but with lazy, rounded words.

Tony pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Our feathered friend will be happy ‘ _Super Mario World’_ weekend didn’t go to waste.”

**Author's Note:**

> Role reversal! Go!
> 
> Can't let my other trash child be forgotten. There isn't enough Steve Rogers whump in the world.


End file.
